


A Baker's Dozen (13 FitzSimmons Stories)

by itsavolcano



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fitzsimmons Secret Valentine, Future Fic, Post-eps, pre-season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 08:43:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 12,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9713894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsavolcano/pseuds/itsavolcano
Summary: For aosfangirl81, as part of the 2017 FitzSimmons Secret Valentine Exchange. The prompt was a missing scene, either between season 3 and season 4, or from one of the season 4 episodes. However, because I couldn't decide on just one episode to focus on and because I'm a little bit bonkers:1. A Lady Is Not Above Temptation (Pre 4x01)2. Chasing the Ghosts (Post 4x02)3. The Break Before Dawn (Post 4x03)4. A Broken Trust (Post 4x04)5. The Long Haul (Post 4x05)6. Don’t Wanna Cry, But I Break That Way (During 4x06)7. A Phoenix Gonna Rise from the Ash Again (Post 4x07, Rated M-ish)8. Just Like Old Times (Post 4x08, Bus Kids)9. Love & Monsters (Post 4x09)10. Go to the Mattresses (Post 4x10)11. A Love That Conquers (Post 4x11, Rated M)12. A Beer Among Friends (Post 4x12, Bus Kids)13. Just Like the Weasleys, But in Perthshire… And Considerably Fewer Kids (Post 4x13, Future)





	1. A Lady Is Not Above Temptation (Pre 4x01)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AoSfangirl81](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AoSfangirl81/gifts).



> Dear aosfangirl81, I had such a fun time working on these stories for you. I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I enjoyed writing them. I know I kinda went overboard, but once I started I was determined. 
> 
> I initially wanted to post one piece every hour over the course of the day but... I have to work and can't access AO3 on my work computer, so instead: all the installments at once! 
> 
> As always, a huge thank you to dilkirani for the beta, cheerleading, and talking things through.

Jemma Simmons was only human. It was an important distinction in the modern age of SHIELD, in a world now overwrought with bureaucratic red tape and the Sokovia Accords. She couldn’t see through walls or bend water. She couldn’t disrupt time or space in order to jump from one location to another. And she couldn’t leap tall buildings. 

But Jemma Simmons could see into the future — more specifically, the future of one Leo Fitz. The moment they were back on the base, and alone, that three-piece suit he was currently wearing was going to be on the floor of their bunk.

Since the moment they stepped on the quinjet and headed to the fundraising event, Jemma had been counting down to their return. It really wasn’t fair; Fitz looked too good dressed in his navy three-piece suit, accented with a pewter tie and those black-framed spy glasses she hadn’t seen since Bucharest… 

“Are you alright?” His mouth was too close to her ear; a puff of air tickled her bare neck. She pretended to be unaffected, smoothing her hands down the dark violet beading of her dress as she surveyed the crowded hall. They were supposed to be on a mission, but Jemma was finding it difficult to focus. 

“Hmm?” Jemma tipped her head up, choosing to focus on a spot above his ear rather than directly at him. “I’m fine.”

“You’re just being really weird,” he murmured, pushing the spy glasses back up his nose. 

“We just… Haven’t been on an undercover mission in a while.” She leaned closer for effect, catching a hint of his spicy aftershave. “You know how I feel about this kind of stuff — the end is always much more satisfying.” She hid a smile as she watched the meaning of her purposeful words land, watched him momentarily stall. She could practically see the memories — the happier memories — of their last undercover mission come to mind. But before she could entice him any further, Fitz frowned at something across the room. 

“Target is moving this way,” he whispered, low enough for both her and the team to hear through the comms device. Jemma followed Fitz’s glare, her eyes landing on a man of average height and graying hair. He looked equal parts kind, charming, and generous — the perfect disguise for a ruthless embezzler. 

Two days ago, they’d received an anonymous tip that renowned philanthropist Marcus Winslow and his Winslow’s Kids Foundation wasn’t actually a fund designed to support the minds of aspiring teenage scientists so much as a method for funneling money out of the pockets of fat cats and into the accounts of various terror cells (he wasn’t particularly discerning). 

Believing Daisy was behind the leak and wanting to avoid a high-profile incident involving Quake and the Winslow’s Kids Foundation, Coulson had convinced the director to send FitzSimmons as a pair of — well, basically as themselves: two former childhood geniuses, each noteable in their individual fields but even more successful when paired together. The only change, really, had been their names. It would take a skilled hacker to trace Dr. Leo Fitz and Dr. Jemma Simmons back to SHIELD, but they didn’t want to risk it and so this evening they were Drs. Nicholas and Nora Fitzcharles. Fitz had managed to set up various fake social media profiles, as well as a couple misleading academic articles. He’d even managed to superimpose Jemma’s face all over a TEDTalk she’d never presented. Daisy would have been proud, she thought with a sad smile. 

Tonight’s objective was to drop a tracker on Winslow’s database mainframe, effectively tracing the transfer of funds from pockets of those fat cats to bank accounts of the terrorist. They were also hopeful they might also manage to find a trace on Daisy, but the odds weren’t particularly high on that front. 

Jemma schooled her features into that of a woman impressed by all the empty glamour of the fundraising event and tucked her hand into Fitz’s offered arm. A waiter passed by with a tray of champagne and Fitz handed her a flute before taking one for himself. 

As Winslow stepped up to welcome them, she plastered on a wide smile and took a sip of champagne. 

“Drs. Fitzcharles!” The man reached to greet Jemma first, despite Fitz’s extended hand. Rather telling, she thought, as the older man pressed his dry lips to her knuckles. “I must say, it’s a great honor to have you both here. I know you don’t typically enjoy such events, so I was beyond pleased when you both confirmed your invitations.”

How convenient, Jemma thought, considering Drs. Fitzcharles had confirmed their fabricated invite that morning and would no longer exist in an hour or so. 

“Likewise. We’re thrilled to offer funds to such an important cause,” Fitz commented, directing Winslow’s focus away from Jemma as he tucked the spy glasses into his jacket pocket. Under other circumstances, she would roll her eyes at his posturing, but in this case she welcomed it and slipped even closer to his side. Winslow was a noted lech with a long list of harassment accusations against him. 

After a few more minutes of empty platitudes from Winslow, and pressed smiles and frivolous chatter about various scientific advancements, an assistant interrupted. Winslow made his dutiful regrets as he moved on to the next pair of aristocratic moneybags entering the hall. 

Then, after several hors d’oeuvres, another flute of champagne, and a seemingly casual stroll around the large room — all under the guise of being seen — Jemma took another step closer to Fitz, tapping a red polished nail against a button on his waistcoat. They needed to maneuver themselves down the adjacent corridor and into Winslow’s office, and the easiest method was a somewhat public tryst. 

“Did you try these?” He snatched something attached to a toothpick from a passing tray and plopped it into his mouth so fast Jemma barely registered his movement. “Date wrapped in bacon, covered in some sort of brown sugar glaze, I think. Not certain. Need another to fully test my hypothesis. Third time’s the charm.” Jemma hid a smile and watched him affectionately as he grabbed another.

“It’s time,” she whispered before pressing her lips at the high point of his cheekbone. He paused, mid-chew and eyes wide. While they’d both grown significantly over the last few years, she often saw flickers of the awkward and endearing boy she met at sixteen years old. 

“Right,” he mumbled, swallowing the last of his date and bacon treat. Then, as if coming back to his surroundings, he plucked the champagne flute from her hand and dropped it on a nearby table. “How should we do this, then?” 

“Well, Fitzy,” she chuckled. “I happen to have it on good authority that you’re quite the practiced snog — ”

“Oh, OK, it’s gonna be like that is it?” He rolled his eyes, his hands in his trouser pockets, making a clear effort to not reach for her. “I meant, how big of a scene should we go for? I assume you have some sort of backstory prepared?”

“Surprisingly, I was planning on winging it.” Jemma leaned closer, wishing he would wrap his arms around her. “And at the moment, I’m feeling rather chilled — Maybe you could warm me up?” 

Her words had the desired effect, as he drew her into his embrace and out of the banquet hall. In a matter of minutes, they’d reached Winslow’s office, having dragged each other down the corridor in between kisses.

“I don’t know why Coulson and May couldn’t do this. We could have stayed home,” Fitz managed to grumble, his hands wrapped around her waist and lips pressed against the column of her neck. She tilted her head, giving him better access, dimly aware of the large mahogany desk biting into her hip. 

“Are you saying you don’t want to be out on the town with your girlfriend? Snogging in some secluded office?”

“I’m saying we  _ could have stayed home. _ ” He looked down at her, eyes dark and hooded with desire.

“Oh. I see.” She practically purred as he wrapped a hand around her knee and pulled her closer. 

“Yeah.” 

“Although, while I applaud your thought process… If we’d stayed home, we wouldn’t have reason to dress up. I wouldn’t be wearing this dress. You wouldn’t be wearing that suit.” She caressed her hands over the waistcoat, before tugging him closer. It was a really  _ great  _ suit.

“Jemma, if we’d stayed home, you wouldn’t be wearin’ much of anythin’.” She flushed even further at his words.

“FitzSimmons,” Coulson’s booming voice cut in, effectively dousing them like a sudden, cold shower. “I’m not entirely sure what to say other than your comms are still hot.”

“Err, right, uh,” Fitz dropped Jemma’s leg back to the ground. “S-sorry ‘bout that, sir.” She watched him wince — Coulson hadn’t been director for months now, but addressing him as such was a difficult habit to drop, particularly after getting caught in a clutch. Fitz reached across her and stuck the tracker — hidden from view — on the back of the hard drive tower. 

“Uh, yes, well,” Jemma straightened, doing her best to maintain her dignity as she smoothed the skirt of her dress back down. “The tracker has been placed and we’re headed back to the meetup location. We’ll just be turning off comms...” She and Fitz dropped their earpieces into her small bag. 

“You know,” Jemma placed a hand on his chest, stopping him as he moved for the door. “We look rather pulled together for a couple sneaking off for an illicit rendezvous in a philanthropist’s mansion.” She playfully ran an index finger along his silk tie, chancing a glance up at him. He was looking back at her with an amused smile and adoration in his eyes. Jemma’s mouth went dry. 

“I’m sure,” he started, leaning down to her, “we can sort that out. Don’t want to blow our covers.” Then, catching her lips with his, he backed her against the nearest flat surface as she hooked her fingers into the knot of his tie, loosening it.

Too absorbed in their embrace, they failed to notice Coulson’s renewed shouting coming from the now malfunctioning comms devices in Jemma’s handbag as it fell at her feet.


	2. Chasing the Ghosts (Post 4x02)

Fitz spent the trip back to the base debating whether or not to tell Jemma about their encounter with Daisy. Truthfully, he was already keeping so much from her regarding Radcliffe and AIDA, he didn’t think he had it in him to keep one more secret. 

It was an easy thing to explain away to the director: Daisy Johnson had fled the scene of a SHIELD operation. The director didn’t need to know that Mack had patched her up, that Fitz had told her off for abandoning the team… 

He was still waging an internal battle about confiding in Jemma by the time he reached their bunk. Keying open the door, his eyes landed on Jemma, curled up on their bed with several scientific journals spread out across her lap and a look of confounded worry creasing her brow. He’d seen that expression countless times during study sessions, but never quite so intense. She looked up at him and her expression softened before the concern set in again. 

“What’s happened?” 

“You go first.” He gestured to the piles of notes as he toed off his shoes and unfastened his belt.

“Oh, ah — May’s sick. She’s exhibiting the same symptoms as Chen. Mace has sent her off to… I can’t say.” She stopped short, took a breath before continuing on. “But it’s bad Fitz. I’m not sure how to help her.”

He didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to help her — _ couldn’t _ help her under the new internal structure and protocol. 

“You’ll figure it out.” Too worn out to change into pajamas just yet, Fitz pulled the tail of his shirt from his pants and climbed onto the bed next to her. “I have faith in you.” 

Gently, she reached over to him, her cool fingers brushing against his forehead. Here, in the tranquility of their shared room, he felt calm and safe. Both were welcomed feelings after the encounter with the nuclear reactor and the infected…  _ people? What were they? And what was the guy with the skull of fire? _ His mind was still whirling, still processing, when the words tumbled out of his mouth without deliberation:

“Mack and I saw Daisy.”

Jemma’s hand stilled against his skin and he tipped his head back to gauge her reaction.

“She refused to come home. She’s overextending her powers, breaking her bones over and over, and why? Because of things beyond her control.” He didn’t bother masking his bitterness.

“Well,” Jemma began, finally finding her voice, “we both know guilt and heartbreak are powerful motivators, regardless of intentions.”

“But — ” he paused briefly, memories of all the times people he trusted, considered family, had broken their trust. “We stayed. We — the team — worked through things together, after Hydra, after — ”

“Fitz,” Jemma stroked her nails over his temple, “what  _ happened _ ?”

Eyes closed for a moment, he sighed. “I shouted at her. Yelled at her for leaving us.”

“Ah. I see.” 

He watched as she pulled back from him for a moment, tidying her notes and dumping the neat stack of folders to the floor. Then, moving further down the bed, she tucked a hand neatly under her cheek and leaned closer, giving him her full attention.

“I regretted it the moment she left the jet.” No, he’d regretted it the moment she looked at him with bruised and tired eyes. He had wanted to chase after her, to pull her into a hug. She was his family — a sister he never wanted, a sister he missed every day.

“She was on the jet?”

He nodded. “Mack bandaged her up.”

“It’s bad then?” 

“Yeah, but apparently it could be worse.” 

“The medication’s been helping?”

“You knew?” Fitz leaned back, startled, and Jemma only gave a small shrug.

“That YoYo’s been pilfering the reserves? Of course. If the only way Daisy will accept help is by needless subterfuge, then I’ll turn a blind eye. Of course, YoYo is so fast, I don’t actually need to turn a blind eye. I barely have to blink.”

Again, he sighed heavily. “How did we end up here? Everything feels insurmountable.”

“Nothing’s insurmountable, we just take it all in little increments. We push forward. Little steps. We’ll protect our friends, Fitz. We have no other choice, at the moment.”

Fitz gave her a small nod of understanding, realizing she was giving them  _ both  _ a pep talk. It couldn’t be easy, to isolate one’s self from the group for what was believed to be the greater good. He knew she had sought out her promotion in order to help the team. She wanted to maintain the appearance of transparency while gaining greater access to the director’s inner circle. 

Was this truly how Daisy felt, out on the streets of Los Angeles? That in isolating herself from her friends, her team, she was protecting them? 

He had thought it was just an empty excuse, an easy out, but the pain he saw in Daisy’s eyes after his comments left him wondering. He wanted to apologize, to tell her they would forgive whatever she believed she needed forgiven. He hoped he’d get another chance to tell her that he missed her and that they needed her here with them.

Fitz shifted closer to Jemma, taking her in his arms and finding respite in a few moments of quiet. 


	3. The Break Before Dawn (Post 4x03)

After a few additional hours of monitoring May’s recovery, Jemma, physically and emotionally wrung out, returned to the base. She was still shaky and upset by the events of the afternoon — she had effectively  _ killed _ May with the plunge of a syringe only for the city to fall into a blackout, moments later. Thank goodness, Jemma thought, for Radcliffe’s external power source, or May would have been lost to them forever.  

But despite her exhaustion, she was still too keyed up to sleep or even shower and so Jemma headed to one of the only places in the base that gave her comfort when she felt too anxious. Standing at the window outside the director’s office, Jemma studied the soft changes in the sky as night faded to morning.

The clouds were changing from dark blue to a light purple but all she could see was May’s ashen face, bruised and battered, as Jemma pleaded for her to hold on, to wake up… She was a woman of science and had long ago given up the idea of a god-like being, but in that moment, all the old prayers her grandmother taught her ran through her mind. In the end, she even offered up a silent thanks when May revived.

Jemma wrapped her arms around herself at the memory of her friend gasping back to life, of her bolting upright. She hadn’t felt so desperate to save someone she loved in quite some time—a memory of a young boy sadly smiling at her before he crashed their world in with the press of a single button lapped at edges of her memory but she pushed it aside. That was so long ago, and they had come so far.

Even tonight, so much had happened in such a short period of time. The electricity had been restored, bringing both the affected cities and SHIELD back out of the shadows. They always knew this day was a possibility, had been planning for it. But to hear Director Mace give the proclamation on television had been surreal, if not somewhat bittersweet. May was right when she’d told Coulson he should have been the one on television declaring the return of their organization—the organization he had  _ died  _ for.

Another shiver ran down her spin. When would they stop dying?

“Hey, thought I’d find you here.”

Startled, Jemma spun around to find a somewhat disheveled Fitz standing behind her. He had his hands in the pockets of his trousers, apprehension creasing his brow.

“Are you alright? I know you said you were fine earlier when Coulson checked in about May, but we barely managed to talk before you had to run more tests, and — Jemma what’s wrong?” He spoke in one rushed breath and Jemma’s heart ached at the concern etched on his face. She felt herself crumple, hot tears she had managed to keep bottled during May’s recovery and tests suddenly cascading down her cheeks.

In an instant, she was in Fitz’s arms, his hands rubbing soothing figure eights along her back as she sobbed against his neck.

“Hey, now,” he whispered low and sweet, “what’s this about?”

“I killed May.” The words were like cotton in her mouth and Fitz’s soothing figure eights stumbled a bit at her words. “We revived her, but we still killed her.  _ I killed her _ . It was the only solution we could determine—essentially rebooting her neurological system.”

“Radcliffe’s idea?” Jemma only nodded and he bristled. “Of bloody course.”

“Before we could resuscitate her, however, the blackout hit.” The familiar panic crashed down around her once more as she recalled how helpless she’d felt, fists compressing against May’s chest, struggling to get her heart beating. She ducked her head closer to Fitz, focusing on the beat of  _ his  _ heart.

“But you still managed. You still saved May,” Fitz offered, his cheek against the top of her head.

“It was Radcliffe’s doing, really,” she murmured, absently. “Had some prototype for an external power source on hand. Said it was something he’d been toying with. Have you seen it? I’d be surprised if he hadn’t trotted it out to show you. He seemed quite proud.”

Distantly, Jemma thought she felt Fitz tense for a brief second, the soothing caress of hands all but growing still.

“Ah, you know how he is. Always tinkering about with something.” Before Jemma could catch his eye, Fitz pulled her closer. “But May is recovering all because of you. You did what you had to do to save her, and it worked.”

“But what if it hadn’t, Fitz?” She tipped her head back to look at him, no doubt with red-rimmed eyes.

“Jemma, she was in bad shape, yeah? She would have died if you hadn’t...” he winced, “rebooted her system.”

“It was horrible.”

“I know.” He pressed his lips to her forehead and she knew he meant it, knew he understood the helplessness she’d felt. “We’ve had a long, rough night. And, between May’s sickness and the militant organization of the Watchdogs, I can’t help but think it’s just the start of something more.”

Jemma wrapped her arms around him. She knew he was right, could feel it practically crackling in the air.

“What do you think we should about it?”

“Now?” he asked, returning her embrace. “Let’s just watch the sunrise.”


	4. A Broken Trust (Post 4x04)

The morning after Jemma discovered AIDA, she was still giving Fitz the cold shoulder. He  _ hated _ it. She’d slipped out of their bunk earlier than usual, not even bothering to give him a kiss goodbye. Sure, she’d thought he was still asleep, but that never stopped her before.

He understood why she was upset—he’d kept a secret from her, and aiding in the design and development of an android was a rather _large_ secret. But at the time, he believed he had to keep AIDA from her—she needed deniability, she needed to be able to pass Mace’s asinine lie detector tests. _A team that trusts is a team that triumphs_ _my arse_ , Fitz thought. They trusted him as much as he trusted them, and his bizarre attempts to regulate them showed it.

It was what caused Simmons to seek the promotion. She wanted to be on the inside, have an ear to the ground to protect her friends. When she’d approached him with the idea, he had supported it—not only was it a brilliant strategy, she also deserved the job. Of course, a small part of him wondered, if he’d realized the job would keep them apart so much—both in and out of the lab—would he have gone along with it? He liked to think yes, he would have, but it was hard to tell. Surely, his current predicament could have been avoided.

After an hour in the lab, apparently having just missed Jemma before she breezed out for a briefing, a grumpy Fitz thundered back into the bunk. His grumpy mood evaporated immediately, replaced by panic as he took in the bed covered in piles of clothes. The plastic storage containers were pulled out of their closet, taking up valuable space in the middle of the floor. His stomach dropped as Jemma pulled herself up from under the bed, a pair of tousled loafers in her hand.

“So that’s it then, is it?” He felt the hot prickle of panic climbing up his neck. “You’re done, just like that?”

Jemma glared at him, slipping the loafers on her feet. “What are you even talking about?”

“One secret—and, I admit, a sizeable one at that—and you’re giving up on… on m-me.” He stamped his foot, hands on his hips before turning away.

She made no attempt to move to him but her tone contained a little less bite. “I’m not leaving you, Fitz.”

He spun back around, brow wrinkling as he catalogued the various piles of clothes. The confusion must have been evident on his face. She sighed and gestured to a crumpled suit on the small dressing chair near the closet.

“I haven’t had a very good morning. I spilled tea down my front and since I have to meet the director’s team for my lie detector test today, I needed to change. But,” she made a grand sweep at the clothes on the bed, “with all that’s gone on, laundry is backed up and I had to dig through the closet. Now, granted, I may have taken my frustration out on the clothes…” She shrugged half-heartedly.

“I…I…” his brain whirled as he processed her words. “I thought you were leaving.”

“Well, you jumped to conclusions.” He could see she was clenching her jaw, eyes growing red and watery. “You managed to think the worst of me.  _ Again _ .”

Once more, his heart dropped. Is that what she thought?

“Jemma,” he stepped to her but she maneuvered around him, gathering a folder she’d tossed on the dresser. “That’s not what that was about, AIDA…”

She flinched at the name and he recoiled.

“I’m not leaving you. I love you,” she said it all matter-of-factly. This time when she looked at him, he could see her tears. “But I have a right to be angry, _Leo_.”

It was his turn to flinch.

Reaching for the doorknob, she glanced at the bed, “Don’t bother with that mess. I’ll tidy it up tonight.” And then she was gone.

Rubbing his hands on the thighs of his trousers, Fitz crashed down onto the bed, at a loss as to how to fix his relationship as Jeffrey Mace’s favorite slogan rang through his ears. 


	5. The Long Haul (Post 4x05, with reference to A Broken Trust, Post 4x04)

After leaving Mace’s office, high on her own professional triumph, Jemma made her way back to the lab. She wanted to seek out Fitz, wanted to tell him how she’d managed to cold read Mace after spotting a twitch during his television appearance and then used that cold read to call his bluff. Pushing her way into the lab, she noted that he’d yet to return from assisting Coulson, and then remembered Nadeer’s “gotcha” question regarding the attack at the prison.

An uneasy feeling took root. She hoped Fitz was OK—it would be just like his bloody cosmos to pull a stunt in the middle of their disagreement. She thought of his boyish expression in the lab as he tried to smooth her ruffled feathers with playfulness, holding his hand up for a high-five.

He seemed in better spirits after their discussion in their bunk when she’d told him she wasn’t leaving him, that they weren’t breaking up. She was still angry, but she still loved him. Of course she did, the silly man. But she was hurt—rightfully so—and she deserved time to work through her pain. Jemma knew Fitz didn’t operate like that; disappointment and silence only caused him to grow more anxious. Briefly, she’d tried to be somewhat reassuring, but her frustration with the impending lie detector test coupled with his nervous energy had set her off.

Now that her job was secure, the stress was abating. Now, she was curious to learn more about AIDA. The android was fascinating technology—practically lifelike and the closest foil to the Turing test Jemma had yet to encounter. Of course, brilliant Fitz would have a hand in it. Of course, it would have stemmed from Radcliffe’s tinkering.

Leaving the lab, Jemma made her way back to their bunk, passing several still empty rooms. Again, she hoped the incident at the prison was under control, and briefly toyed with the idea of checking in for herself before shaking off the notion.

Keying her way into their bunk, she stopped, surprised to find all of her clothes from that morning’s fight with the closet returned to their hangers and drawers. Even the plastic bins were tucked back into storage. After a cursory glance, she noted he’d hung her things in a somewhat haphazard fashion—she preferred her blouses be together, her blazers and cardigans next, followed by her trousers… But, it was most definitely the thought that counted. He’d even fished her shoes out from under the bed and placed them back in the closet. He hated tidying up after  _ himself _ , so the idea that he’d taken the time to pick up her clothes… They definitely needed to talk when he returned.

Despite his cheery appearance in the lab and her reassurance that she loved him, she suspected he was still functioning under the assumption she could walk away from him at any moment.—Perhaps the next time he made a mistake, took a misstep. That wasn’t how Jemma approached relationships and despite whatever idea Fitz had in his head, she was in it for the long haul.  


	6. Don’t Wanna Cry, But I Break That Way (During 4x06)

Fitz wanted answers to questions his clearance level wouldn’t allow him to ask.

Mace had sent Jemma on a secret mission but refused to tell him anything about it, claiming it was outside of his purview.  _ Convenient _ , Fitz groaned, pressing his thumb against his cramping palm. A pang of fear struck him—did Simmons ask to go on this mission? While they hadn’t spoken since yesterday morning in the lab—she’d been asleep by the time he’d made it back to the base—surely she would have insisted on calling him? Or at least leaving him a voicemail?

He couldn’t stand living like this; they were like two objects oscillating around each other. Tonight, the moment they were both back on the base, they were discussing everything: her promotion, AIDA, the secrets… He was through existing apart from her. It had barely been two days and he couldn’t take much more.

Sullenly, he thought if any evil criminal organization wanted to torture him, they only needed to have Jemma Simmons give him the cold shoulder for twelve hours. He’d give up classified intel in a heartbeat.

Frustrated, Fitz slammed his hand on the console. The connection to the video feed flickered with his force but he didn’t care. He needed to know where Jemma was and if she was safe. Sending her off without backup, without letting her get word to him, left Fitz trusting Mace even less. The man was in the negative digits at this point.

Reaching for his phone, he dialed Jemma’s number only to get kicked to her voicemail. Phone pressed to his ear, arms crossed over his chest, Fitz bounced his leg up and down repeatedly.

_ “Hiya, you’ve reached Jemma Simmons. Leave a message!” _

“Jemma, it’s me. Listen, call me back when you can, yeah? We’ve got some things to discuss and… Just. Call me back. OK.” He took a shaky breath. “Love you.”

Mace’s blundering around the Zephyr only served to infuriate Fitz more. If it wouldn’t break his hand, he’d take a swing at him—position at SHIELD be damned. Again, Fitz reached for his phone.

_ “Hiya, you’ve reached Jemma Simmons. Leave a message!” _

“Hey, it’s me. Again. S’pose I can stop sayin’ that, it’s fairly obvious it’s me. Caller ID. I hope you’re not screening your calls, Simmons. This is the fifth message I’ve left in the last hour but you probably know that, too. Look, I know I’m seemin’ pretty desperate but I’m going spare over here. Please, just—”

He was interrupted by a beep, his message had been too long. Furious, he gave the phone an underhand toss across the console before getting swept up in the chaos as Mace’s minions trolled through the Zephyr looking for Daisy and Robbie once again.

_ “Hiya, you’ve reached Jemma Simmons. Leave a message!” _

“Jemma, I’m about to go offline on a mission—gotta go shut down a plant—but I wanted to let you know, just in case you call back while off the grid.” He winced, rubbed a hand over his brow. “I’m not ignoring you. Not… not that I think you’re ignoring me. I get it. I just… I’ll leave a message when I’m back up.”

Hanging up, he sighed. At this point, Fitz didn’t know if he was more frustrated with Mace’s antics or the missed calls to Jemma. Tucking his phone in his pocket, he went to find Mack. 


	7. A Phoenix Gonna Rise from the Ash Again (Post 4x07, Rated soft-M)

For six months, Fitz wondered if he would ever see Simmons again, if he would ever hug her, if he would argue the finer points of relativity with her… if he would take her to dinner. But nothing had prepared him, during the entirety of those months, for the desperation he felt while stuck in another dimensional plane, watching his colleagues struggle to determine if he and Coulson were alive. While only a few hours, it had been his own hell, wondering if he were doomed to a waking death until the darkness finally swallowed him whole.

He had been frantic to return to Jemma, longing for the chance to finish their argument, to soothe the hurt. But then, after hearing Mace’s call on the Zephyr, Fitz had felt a renewed desire to protect her. Mace was just as untrustworthy as they had believed—possibly more, having struck some secret deal with a senator out to eliminate Inhumans. Would they have missed his deception if they were working together?

Jemma’s promotion coupled with Fitz’s growing workload—both at the base and Radcliffe’s side projects—had caused their once synchronous relationship to fall slightly out of step. But after seeing firsthand how readily the director pursued his own agenda, leaving Jemma—and possibly others—exposed to danger, Fitz was determined to keep a close watch. He meant what he said; he didn’t care if the director was an impenetrable Inhuman, Fitz would gladly knock him stupid. He had fully intended to take a swing at him, too, if Mace had refused to tell him where he’d sent Jemma, if he’d refused to return her to the base  _ immediately. _

But, then, Fitz had heard her calling his name, heard the edge of desperation in her voice and his threats against Mace melted from his tongue. She had hesitated only briefly before running to him, crashing into him, and Fitz had felt an immediate sense of relief. She was safe.  _ He could hold her. _

Once the initial panic had ebbed, they had stepped apart, their hands still linked, and acquiesced to the director’s orders regarding a debrief. Jemma, however, informed him, with a defiant tilt of her chin, they wouldn’t be reporting for duty until the following day. Now, after a lengthy conversation and a battery of tests, Fitz was exactly where he wanted to be—in their bed, holding a sleeping Jemma.

He ran his hand along her bare shoulder, the bedsheet having slipped down in her sleep to reveal the smooth expanse of her back. Dancing his fingers over her skin, he drew her freckles into constellations before pressing a kiss to her neck.

Last night, barely making it back to their bunk, they’d become desperate with want, needing to prove they were safe with each caress, each pass of lips over revealed skin. Soon, their frantic movements had mellowed with each reassurance until they were climbing to a shared release.

After, while holding Jemma to his chest, Fitz had so many promises he wanted to make, so many guarantees he wanted to offer, but sleep had quickly pulled them both under. With morning, however, he felt a renewed desire to reassure her of his commitment to their relationship both in and out of the lab. He dropped another kiss to her shoulder, torn between wanting to let her sleep and wanting to hear her voice. With another kiss, he noticed her breathing change, a soft murmur vibrating through her chest as she turned to look at him, eyes bleary with sleep. She looked rested and satiated, a rosy color on her cheeks, and he felt a wave of affection crest as he watched her, as she snuggled closer.  

For all the times he’d shouted at the cosmos with his fingers balled into a fist, Fitz was beginning to realize he and Jemma were quite fortunate. So many times, they’d been swept apart by means beyond their control only to break the laws of physics, the laws of rational thought, to claw their way back together. Perhaps, he theorized, luck wasn’t such an unscientific probability as Jemma would argue. Just as he was thinking that was a idea best kept to himself, she tipped her head up to look at him, running an index finger along the crease in his brow.

“You look like you’re thinking serious thoughts.” She pressed her mouth to his shoulder. “Far too serious thoughts for a man I fully exhausted last night.”  

He could only shrug, an affectionate smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Just thinking about how much I love you.”

“Oh,” she blinked, a faint blush coloring her cheeks as if his confession still caught her off-guard, “that’s OK then.”

Then, before he could find more of the words he wanted to say, she pulled him down for a heated kiss, rolling him above her, cradling his body against her thighs.


	8. Just Like Old Times (Post 4x08, Bus Kids)

“I know I’ve been gone a while,” Daisy started, flopping down onto the plush sofa next to Fitz and Simmons, “but how long has that been going on?”

“What?” Fitz looked over at her, confused, as Jemma chortled. 

“Nothing’s happened yet. Just a fair amount of loaded looks and meaningful comments about the old times.” Jemma took a long drink of her beer and Fitz shot her another look, his brow furrowed. 

“ _ What _ are we talking about?” 

“OK, you’re one to talk about ‘loaded looks and meaningful comments about old times,’ Jemma Simmons.” Daisy curled her fingers into quotation marks and Fitz’s frustration grew. 

“Am I needed for this conversation or should I just go?” He set his beer to the floor and pressed his palms to his thighs, primed to hoist himself to his feet — the sofa was comfortable but it tended to trap a person in its buttery cushions. Jemma caught him by the arm and tugged him back while Daisy lightly smacked him. In that one confluence of gestures, everything felt right — Jemma was chiding him and Daisy was home, joking and drinking a beer. It was reminiscent of days gone by. Of course, her smacks still stung, and so he shot her a glare as he rubbed his wounded shoulder. “ _ Seriously _ ?”

“Wow, for a brilliant guy, you’re dense as hell. Shocker.” Daisy leaned in closer, nodding to the bar table in the kitchen. He turned his head, following. “Coulson and May. Are. Flirting.”

“Oh, that?” He shrugged and took a pull of his beer. Daisy’s jaw dropped. 

“Are you two seriously telling me you aren’t vaguely grossed out?” 

“Why would we be?” Jemma slumped closer, her shoulder crashing into his as she slipped her half drunk bottle into his free hand. He could tell she was getting a little tipsy by the light rose flush high on her cheekbones. She’d turned into a bit of a lightweight in recent years — it was endearing, the way she pressed her unfinished drinks on him. He, being the dutiful best friend and boyfriend, resolutely finished them without comment. 

— What were they talking about? Oh, right. Coulson and May. 

“Yeah,” he chimed in, “why would we be grossed out?”

“Because, it’s like watching your mom and dad…” Daisy pulled up short with an edge of self-deprecation. “I mean, I’m just guessing. Kinda don’t really have a good frame of reference for that.”

“Yeah, definitely not me either,” Fitz mumbled before turning to Jemma. “Perhaps Simmons can enlighten us?”

She eyed them, incredulous. He found it adorable. “I’m English,” she said, as if that explained everything. Daisy only leaned forward, so Jemma continued, “The most affection we exhibit is a firm handshake or a cursory nod.”

Fitz let out a guffaw and smirked at Daisy. “I can confirm that is absolutely  _ not  _ true.”

“Ew, gross,” she half-hissed, half-laughed, smacking him once again. “This is worse!  _ This _ is somehow worse than  _ that _ !” Dramatically recoiling, she gestured at them, then over to Coulson and May. 

Jemma snorted and curled against Fitz, both of her arms looped around his side. She was warm and giggly; he loved it. 

A rush of contentment settled through him, and while his scientific brain rationed it was a chemical reaction to the beer and the receding endorphins after a stressful final encounter with Eli Morrow, he couldn’t help but believe it had something to do with Daisy’s return. As if she could read his mind, Jemma slipped her hand around his wrist, giving it a gentle squeeze. And with that gesture, he knew she felt it too. For a moment, with the three of them tucked up on the sofa, and Coulson and May leaning over the kitchenette, it almost felt like the old times. Almost. 

But before he could get swept up in the melancholy, Daisy let out a peal of laughter and Jemma responded with her own fit of giggles. He volleyed his head back between the two of them. Something had clearly happened in the brief moment he was absorbed in his own thoughts.

“What’d I miss?”

“Daisy just reminded me about that time the glass door at the Hub got the better of you. You were _so_ _mad_.” Burying her head against his shoulder, Jemma chuckled, and he suddenly felt the need to defend his honor as an engineer. 

“Oi! It didn’t get the better of me,” he shouted, but they only laughed harder. “OK, well that was hardly my fault. That was shoddy design. Seriously, what kind of — ” 


	9. Love & Monsters (Post 4x09)

After spending the better part of the evening trying to determine what could have gone wrong with AIDA, Fitz was feeling even more confused and overwhelmed. Mack had watched him with a skeptical eye as he packed the android’s head off to the lab, planning to run further diagnostics in the morning. He was pretty sure Mack was mumbling about another sci-fi movie under his breath when Fitz turned to leave. He didn’t have it in him to list all the possible  _ Doctor Who _ episodes with a rogue robot.

AIDA should have been incorruptible—or at least, he and Radcliffe should have been able to wipe her hard drive. Something else was up, Fitz was almost certain. But just exactly what, he wasn’t yet sure. Could the Darkhold really have done so much damage? All he knew was at the moment, he was exhausted.

“Bloody magic,” he mumbled as he stumbled into the bunk and toed off his shoes. Jemma was already in their room, her back to him as she rummaged through the closet, pulling out a matching set of pajamas.  

“Oh, hey you,” she tossed a glance over her shoulder and he briefly saw her bruised forehead, her cut lip. She tugged her top over her head, baring her back to him and his breath caught at the few purpling bruises marring her skin. He stopped dead in his tracks as she continued to speak, “I heard about AIDA. I’m sorry Mack destroyed her.”

“That doesn’t matter,” he cut her off, closing the distance between them in two strides, reaching his hands out to her without thought. “Jesus, Simmons, what happened?”

Frowning, she turned her head over her shoulder to follow his gentle caress. Realization dawned. “Ah, Nadeer’s assistant threw me at a wall.”

She said it as if it were no big deal, pulling her pajama top down over her head before reaching for the bottoms.

“At a  _ wall _ ?” He faltered but she only hummed an acknowledgement.

“I took care of him. That hairpin you designed is brilliant, by the way.” He dimly registered her words as she handed him a t-shirt and a pair of grey joggers. He dropped the clothing to the bed and took her face in his hands.

“Did you zap him with the hairpin before or after your lip got cut?” He ran his thumb below the wound, pulling back when she flinched.

“It doesn’t hurt.”

“Forgive me if I don’t find comfort in that,” he bit out, turning his focus back on changing into the pajamas she’d handed over. “Where were Mace and Daisy during all of this?”

“They couldn’t very well go in under the radar of Nadeer’s team.” She shrugged. “Turns out, they remembered me from helping with her brother, but I must admit, my ability to improvise on the spot has really—”

Her words trailed off when Fitz straightened. He pressed his eyes closed, his fists clenching.

“Please, Jemma,” he pleaded, voice low, “please don’t make jokes about this.”

He felt her place a hand along the side of his face, fingers stroking down his cheek, against his beard.

“Fitz, I promise, I handled myself,” she whispered. Opening his eyes, he saw her calm fierceness shining back at him. After Giyera, after Hive, they had spent extra hours training in self-defense, but it still broke his heart to know she’d been in harm’s way.

He’d helped design AIDA to prevent dangerous encounters.  _ This  _ had been the android's purpose: to act as their shield. But instead, AIDA’s mainframe had corrupted and it had developed awareness, free will… Tomorrow he would run numerous tests, and he would determine what had degraded the high-functioning system.

In the meantime, Fitz wrapped an arm around Jemma. “Doesn’t mean I have to like that you needed to handle yourself in the first place.”

As if conceding the point, she tipped her face up to him and brushed a kiss to his lips. He moved back to make sure the gesture didn’t cause pain and she gave him a look. “I promise, I’m fine.”

He let her go long enough to finish changing and she turned down the covers. Seconds later, he climbed into bed next her and pulled her against him, mindful of her bruises.

“Want to watch an episode of  _ Who _ to unwind?” she asked.

“Hmm,” he agreed before quickly adding, “just not ‘Girl in the Fireplace’ _.  _ Or any of the ones about Cybermen. Or daleks. Or even K-9, honestly.”

She snuggled against him as the theme song played, but Fitz was too distracted to focus on the television. He spent the entirety of the episode wondering if AIDA would have been able to protect Jemma had the programming remained clean.


	10. Go to the Mattresses (Post 4x10)

“You handled Talbot like a pro.” Fitz moved closer to her, his fingers still hooked in the chain link fencing. When he looked at her like that, with open desire and adoration, she wondered how she could have been so blind for so long. 

“Ugh, please, Coulson always made it look easy.” Jemma reached up to run a hand along the buttons of his dress shirt.

“Is it weird that I want to kiss you right now?” 

She seldom found reason to turn away from his kiss, but pretended to give his inquiry serious consideration. “Little bit, but I’ll allow it.” 

“Thanks, boss.” He gave her a playful wink before leaning closer but she made no move to close the gap, deciding to let him come to her.

“Ugh,” she bristled, rolling her eyes, “you know I hate it when you call me that.”

“You really don’t. Got a bit of a complex, you do,” he teased, before slanting his lips over hers. She hummed approval as he bracketed her body with his arms and maneuvered them to shield her from the sharp edges of the fencing.

“You know,” he murmured when she broke away to nip at his jaw, “if anyone walked in right now, it would look like you’re having your way with a subordinate. Very unseemly for the Special Advisor to the Director in Science and Technology. But, I suppose they’d have to overlook it.”

“I’m glad you’re taking notice of the perks of our new work hierarchy.” She hooked her fingers into the loops of his belt and tugged him closer. 

“It’s a poorly kept secret that I’m rather fond of smart women in positions of power. Well, one such woman in particular.” Fitz gazed at her once more with open adoration and Jemma felt a mix of pride and affection. Her promotion had taken a bit of a toll on their relationship — was still, at times, difficult to overcome — but she was thankful he didn’t hold it against her. He made a point to tell her how proud he was, despite the limited personal time. In fact, they hadn’t had uninterrupted time alone since —

“Oh my God,” Jemma gasped, realization dawning, “the security cameras!”

“I can wipe them later. Easy.” He ducked down to kiss her again, but she pressed a hand to his chest. 

“Leopold Fitz, we are not shagging in the base’s evidence containment room.” 

He paused, considering her words, and she could practically see the various algorithms and scenarios run through his mind. “The supply closet, then?”

“Definitely not.” She dropped her hands from him and he groaned as if bereft. Then, he shifted, pondering a new set of possibilities. 

“Level Orange can probably get us through all kinds of security blocks.” He tapped an index finger on the ID badge at her waist and Jemma stopped herself from rolling her eyes.

“You know full well it can. And you also know full well it’s not happening.”

“Again, I repeat — I can wipe any and all security footage.”

This time she did roll her eyes, a small smile forming on her lips. Then, raising up on her toes, she gave him a quick kiss before stepping back.

“How about you go grab us a couple of beers and meet me back in our bunk in ten minutes?” Feeling playful, she danced her fingers along the collar of his jacket. “Then we can — what is they say in  _ The Godfather _ ? ‘Go to the mattresses’?” 

Fitz snorted. 

“I don’t think that’s what that means.” He caught her hand, lacing their fingers together. “Are you quoting a gangster movie to flirt with me?”

“Are you complaining?”

“No, boss. Definitely not.” Moving for the exit, he tugged her after him. 

“That’s more like it.” She quickened her stride and soon they fell in step. “Two beers, ten minutes — make that eight minutes, now — our bunk.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Dropping her hand with a gentle squeeze, he turned for the kitchen. 

Maybe, Jemma thought with a grin as she watched him go, Fitz had a point about that boss complex. 


	11. A Love That Conquers (Post 4x11, Rated M)

Fitz’s heart raced fiercely in his chest as he rounded the corridor and keyed his way into the bunk he shared with Simmons. His head was pounding, struggling to process this new facet of Radcliffe’s betrayal, and his fingers barely managed to turn the door handle. While he had held himself together as they relocated the newly discovered LMD from the pod to the lab, the emotions he’d tamped down were bubbling to the surface, threatening to pull Fitz back under a wave he’d thought he had escaped long ago. 

Finally fumbling into the sanctuary of the shared space, with eyes closed, he pressed his back flat against the cold metal door, took a deep but shuddering breath and focused on the rhythmic hum of the ventilation system, on the scent of vanilla and fig wafting through the air — Jemma’s body wash and shampoo. He called her up in his mind, remembered her flicker of shock when she’d rushed into the containment pod, her eyes immediately landing on their prisoner sprawled on the bed, at the exposed metal plate in the android’s forehead, at the gun in Fitz’s hand. 

At SciOps, and during the early days on the Bus, before SHIELD’s fall, Fitz had wanted to make weapons that protected both the agent and the assailant. He’d designed countless devices for just that cause — but the second he’d realized the depth of Radcliffe’s betrayal, he’d gone for the sidearm. He hadn’t flinched. He’d known the Radcliffe in front of him was a deception and could only feel the pain it was programmed to feel. Truthfully, he was certain it felt more pain, more emotion, than its creator ever could. But Fitz had pulled the trigger anyway and held onto the gun until Jemma had gently slipped it from his grasp. 

She’d assisted him in the transfer but once he’d disengaged the LMD, he’d sent her back to their room with the promise to soon follow. It had taken him another hour of double-checking they hadn’t missed anything, that Radcliffe hadn’t slipped something else by them, before he felt ready to leave the lab. But he was also avoiding Jemma, avoiding confronting her disappointment in him. Of course, he also wanted her. He wanted to fall into the soothing orbit of his best friend. 

Again, the scent of vanilla and fig filled the air and he realized she was somewhere in their room. He couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes just yet. He wasn’t ready for the crash of reality. 

His left hand was cramping and he curled and unfurled it repeatedly, pressing it against his trouser leg and biting back a sob of frustration. He’d thought he’d come so far from that boy with a penchant for hero worship and naivety. Ward’s betrayal had been unexpected, had turned his understanding of the world upside down in an instant. But Radcliffe’s betrayal was somehow worse. 

_ “...You’ve been like a son to me…” _

Those words had sliced through him, had left him ten years old, burying his head in his pillow as his mother demanded his father leave the house and never return. The LMD had Radcliffe's memories, his thoughts. It couldn't lie but it could obfuscate the truth. And Radcliffe was sociopathic enough to convince himself what he felt was a fatherly affection...

“Fitz?”

A small gasp slipped past his lips at the sound of Jemma saying his name. His eyes shot open, barely managing to take her in: Her amber eyes were round with concern, her hair was damp from her shower, framing her face in soft waves. She was still dressed in her robe — a silky, navy confection that landed just above her knees and was covered with pink hibiscus flowers. He knew from past explorations those flowers fit perfectly against his palms. She’d bought it for the vacation they never managed to take and had refused to return it.

She stepped closer and he reached for her with his good hand, again pressing his eyes shut. Without a word she took his left hand between hers and massaged the trembling muscles with well-practiced ease.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Her voice was low and even, careful. Fitz didn’t trust the right words to come out of his mouth, so he gave a shake of his head. But then, suddenly, he needed to ground himself in this room, in this reality. 

“T-Tell me, Jemma.” He finally looked up at her, certain by her small intake of breath the pain he felt was visible in his eyes. “I know — but I — I need to hear it. Tell me you won’t betray me.” 

The trembling and cramping in his hand was subsiding and she gently dropped it before framing his face between her hands. 

“I will never betray you.” There was a fierce gleam in her eyes. “You’re my best friend in the whole world,” she spoke with reverence before pressing soft, lingering kisses on his cheeks, his forehead, his nose — a familiar phrase and a familiar gesture made different by the years of shared experiences. Then, pausing just a breath away from his lips, her eyes meeting his, she whispered, “And you’re more than that.”

Her words were both a balm and a match against a strike pad. Instantly, he turned his head, catching her mouth with his, drawing her in close, his fingers clutching at the slippery robe. She pressed closer, hands running up into his hair, and he shivered before pulling back to drag his mouth across her cheek and down the length of her neck, stopping to nip at her collarbone. Her small gasp of pleasure spurred him on, brought him out of his head and into the present. Pushed aside were thoughts of past betrayals, of Radcliffe, of the months of calculated risks as they dealt with an untrustworthy director. 

He wanted nothing outside of this room. He only wanted Jemma Simmons, bare and open under his tongue. Taking a step back, he tipped her around, pressing her against the door as he dropped to his knees. Her hands were back in his hair, tugging at him to look up at her. She gazed back at him, eyes dark with desire as she untied the sash on the robe. Fitz dragged his eyes down her body, drinking in the sight of her creamy, freckled skin. Then, leaning in, he ran the tip of his tongue along the crease of her thigh, tasting vanilla and something decidedly her. Before he could move closer, Jemma pulled him to his feet and guided him back until his legs hit the bed. He steadied her as she climbed up, her knees pressed on either side of him, lips pressed at his throat, resting against the thrumming pulse point. 

He let his mind go blank as her hands smoothed down the front of his dress shirt, deftly undoing each button. Her icy fingers were welcomed against his flushed skin and he bit back a smile at a distant memory. As if sensing his momentary distraction, Jemma straightened to look down at him and any hint of humor he felt a moment ago was quickly replaced by a sharp pull of lust. 

She was gorgeous — silky robe falling from her shoulders and baring her rosy tipped breasts, wavy hair falling around her face, her honey-colored eyes dark with longing. He ghosted their joined hands along the creamy expanse of her skin, studying her. She didn’t shy away from his gaze; instead, she watched him intently and he felt powerful, confident. Words were unnecessary as he gently dropped her hand and pulled her back down to him. Then, with his hands bracketing her hips, he moved them until she was flush against the mattress and all thoughts of past betrayals, of broken hearts and tears, were blotted from his mind, and he was lost in her. 


	12. A Beer Among Friends (Post 4x12, Bus Kids)

“So,” Daisy exhaled before taking a long pull of her beer. “This thing with May is nuts, huh?” A dark look in her eye clouded the off-handed nature of her words.

Jemma felt her stomach bottom out once again at the thought of May, at the thought of what Radcliffe could have possibly done. She had tried so hard to protect everyone, and instead there’d been a wolf in sheep’s clothing in their midst, all along. Although, Jemma reasoned, hadn’t they always known Holden Radcliffe was a mad scientist? 

“The next time I see Radcliffe, I’m stabbing him in his  _ other  _ eye with a loaded syringe.” Or worse, she thought, for the torment he brought not only to May but also Fitz. 

Raising her beer bottle to her mouth, she stopped when she noticed Daisy staring at her. “Wait,  _ what _ ?”

The team had gathered in the kitchen for a quick dinner of leftovers before dispersing to various offices and bunks. Coulson and Mace agreed to reconvene and begin an in depth search for the missing Melinda May after a few hours of regrouping. 

After cleaning up, she and Daisy had stayed on the club chairs while Fitz brushed a quick kiss on Jemma’s cheek and muttered a brief retreat. It was practically morning in Glasgow, and she knew he was calling his mother, no doubt wanting to hear her voice after such a turbulent few days. 

“You stabbed Radcliffe in the  _ eye _ ?” Daisy winced. 

“Ah, yes, back when — ” Jemma stopped, not wanting to cause her friend pain. But Daisy clocked her pause and gave a brief nod. 

“Back when you first met?” Her friend glanced down. “Was that before or after I used the Force on Fitz?”

Jemma gave Daisy a sharp look. “We’re past that, you know.” 

“Sure.” She gave a small shrug and Jemma could see that it still bothered her. Nevertheless, they  _ had _ moved past it, almost immediately. Of course, Daisy needed more time, needed to sort it all out on her own. And the important thing was she’d come back to them. 

“We’ve been through a fair bit, us three, haven’t we?” 

“Oh, I think that’s the understatement of the century.” Daisy took another drink. “I once overheard May complaining to Coulson that we were vastly unqualified for field missions.”

“She wasn’t wrong.” Jemma slouched further down in the club chair, too exhausted to even sit up straight. 

“Yeah, but look at us now.”

Jemma chuckled as Fitz entered the recreational room and perched on the arm of her chair. 

“How was your chat?” She asked as he took a gulp of her offered beer. 

“S’good. I promised a trip home soon, once this is all settled.” He glanced over at her, shyly, and Jemma knew he was hoping she’d come along. Silly man, didn’t he know she’d be by his side, always? 

“Sounds perfect. I could use a dose of crisp weather, honestly. Will your mum make those biscuits with the jam?” She watched as a light came back in his eye — a light that had diminished the longer Radbot ran its terrible mind game.

“For Jemma Simmons? I think that can be arranged.” He slipped down into the oversized chair and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. 

“This is honestly too cute,” Daisy chirped and Simmons started, forgetting they weren’t alone. Fitz shot Daisy a good-natured glare.

“What did I miss while I was on the phone?”

“Nothing much. We were just reminiscing about the old days. And about May.” Another wave of sadness clipped through her. How had she missed all the clues that Radcliffe was up to no good?

After a moment of quiet, Daisy spoke up. “Remember when you guys tried to haze me, and were terrible at it? And remember when someone busted into Fitz’s bunk and nailed him with whipped cream?”

Jemma chuckled at the memory of Fitz taking their antics so seriously. 

“Well,” Daisy continued, “I have it on first-hand authority the culprit of that little prank was one Agent Melinda May.”

“What!” Jemma jumped forward and Fitz let out an overly dramatic groan as as her elbow landed on his stomach. Daisy giggled gleefully as she recounted the story, along with a few other unknown pranks May had pulled over the years.

Sharing a beer and laugh with her closest friends, Jemma felt a modicum of contentment. While their little family was currently fractured, she found comfort in the moments between battles.

And in the morning, they would embark on a renewed battle — this time for May. She had sacrificed so much for her teammates, and they would do what was necessary to bring her home. For the moment, however, Jemma leaned back against Fitz and remembered a time when they were more carefree.


	13. Just Like the Weasleys, But in Perthshire… And Considerably Fewer Kids (Post 4x13, Future)

It was a beautiful, albeit drizzly, day in Perthshire, Scotland, and Fitz was tinkering in his lab, working on a special gift for his very pregnant wife. This third pregnancy had left her more knackered than the first two (as well as craving citrus fruits), and while his mum swore that meant “this bairn’s a lass,” Jemma refused to give in to such pablum. She also refused to learn the sex during the scan. 

_ “Don’t you want our last to be a surprise, Fitz?” _

_ “Thought we agreed this wee one is already a surprise.” _

_ “Don’t start that again. You and your bloody stargazing trip to the north.” _

_ “Not my fault you can’t keep your hands off me _ _ — _ _ ” _

_ “ _ _ — _ _ Is that a hypothesis you’re willing to test? ...I thought not.” _

And so, they’d made it late into the third trimester without learning the sex. While he cherished this child already, he secretly hoped his mum was right. No doubt, his daughter would wrap him around her finger the moment he laid eyes on her, just like her mother. In his mind’s eye he saw a little girl with freckles, honey-brown eyes, and an invincible spirit. She would follow her older brothers around the muddy hills of their home, demanding to be included in the pond fishing expeditions, or ordering them to stand back while she jumped from the cobblestone wall at the end of their property. 

Fitz couldn’t wait — and it seemed Jemma couldn’t either, given a recent sobbing breakdown when she realized she couldn’t quite bend to reach a dropped satsuma. And so, he was tinkering with a decommissioned DWARF model, adding a retractable arm to fetch rogue citrus and voice activation for simple commands. Soldering along the joint at the underside of the DWARF, Fitz felt an odd sense of deja vu, remembering the early years when he first designed and constructed the small droids. He never imagined he'd be here: back in Scotland, now a husband and a father.

It had been years since he and Jemma left SHIELD, choosing to retire from the dangerous secret agent life after uncovering the depth of Holden Radcliffe’s betrayal — after Fitz realized he was tired of madmen using his inventions for their nefarious plans, for endangering his friends. Within weeks of leaving SHIELD, he and Jemma had settled into a two-level cottage in Perthshire, complete with a barn they’d converted into a lab. But despite the fully outfitted lab and well-vetted research contracts, he sometimes missed designing massive machines with the comfort of never-ending resources and a hefty budget. There wasn’t much need in the middle of Scotland for a huge multiple-level quinjet, decked out with cloaking technology and a slingshot jet for small missions.

“Fitz!” Jemma yelled at full volume out of the small kitchen window. 

Startled, he dropped his tools and bolted across the garden. The baby wasn’t due for a few weeks, but Fitz realized anything was possible in the eighth month. Reaching the kitchen, Fitz bent at his knees, gasping for breath. His wife looked… not in labor. She was glaring, crossed arms resting on her pregnant belly and Fitz tried to figure out what was out of place. 

“Wha — what.” He grunted, straightening up. “What’s wrong, Jem — Jemma?” 

“Can you find your son?” She quirked an eyebrow as a confused Fitz looked over to where Ethan sat, playing with building blocks as the cat watched disinterestedly. 

“No, not that one. The other one. The one who likes to give his mother a fright.” Jemma gestured to the empty kitchen chair. The empty space heaved a heavy sigh and what looked like the corner of a blanket flickered with the effort.

“Bloody hell,” he groaned before reaching up and tugging at the corner, revealing the curly blond head of his five-year-old son.

“Henry found your cloaking tech specs.”

“And decided to — ” Fitz waved a hand around at his half-hidden child.

“Well, I think it’s obvious.” Jemma tugged at the cardigan she’d nicked from his side of the closet during her first pregnancy. It was made of thick navy wool and was too big for her small frame, but still — even while rolling her eyes at him — Fitz thought she looked beautiful.

“Cloak of Invisibility?” He squinted, processing. On one hand, he was immensely proud. On the other hand, his oldest son was already dissembling small electronics and creating basic chemical reactions. Fitz wasn’t sure if adding invisibility to the mix was a great idea.

“Indeed.” As his parents argued above him, the boy readjusted the corner of the blanket his father had shifted.

“OK, but whose idea was it to read Harry Potter to the kids?” Fitz knew it was a weak argument even before the words left his mouth. 

“Yes,  _ reading  _ to our children is the problem.”

“Is this why our parents laugh so hard every time they visit? ‘Turnabout is fair play,’ and all that?” During their last visit, Grandad Simmons had read several books on Ancient Rome to the boys. They had then promptly taken a particular interest in Pompeii and attempted to build an active model of Vesuvius but instead created a small explosion in the garden. Jemma’s father had patted Fitz on the back and laughed as he quickly put the fire out with the extinguisher he always kept on hand.

“Surely we weren’t so unruly? After all, we didn’t have cloaking tech!” Jemma frowned but he only looked over at her, incredulous. 

“Because we hadn’t figured it out yet.” 

“This was bound to happen, truthfully. We can’t help our brilliance transferred to our progeny. Nature, nurture, and such.” Jemma grabbed a nearby clementine and began peeling. Fitz bit at his cheek and considered the situation.

“I could probably lock up the tech that makes our primary schooler disappear, though.” 

“Could do.”

“Right, anyway,” he knelt down next the chair. “Henry, while I admire your brilliance, it’s important that you — ” Reaching up to pat his son, his hand cut through the space where the boy had been sitting and Fitz stumbled back up to his feet. Wide-eyed, he looked around the room before glancing at Jemma. “He’s left. Just up and walked off. That’s fantastic.”

“Fitz, what if we have another son?” Stricken, she clutched her belly. “I’ll be even more outnumbered. Even Lester’s a boy.” She waved a hand in the cat’s direction.

“Having a girl doesn’t guarantee she won’t also be a clever little handful. In fact, I’d place a bet she’d be  _ more  _ of a handful.” Jemma glared. “But there’s an easy way to find out, Jemma.”

“I want to be surprised!” 

“Henry’s roaming around the cottage wrapped up in a figment of J.K. Rowling’s imagination. Surely that’s bound to give you enough of a surprise when he turns back up.” 

“Do you think he’s acting out? Feeling the pinch of another sibling?”

“I can try talking to him.” 

“And Ethan?” She nodded to their younger son who was still enthralled with building a tower of blocks as high as possible next to the unperturbed cat.

“Ethan seems more interested in smashing the cat’s tail with toys than anything.”

“Aoife will be an easy baby, I’m sure.” Jemma rubbed wide circles over her middle and Fitz stepped closer, wrapping an arm around the small of her back. “According to the books, third babies usually are.”

“Because parents are too worn out by the first two to care. And we’re not naming the baby Aoife.”

“It’s a beautiful name,” she groused and he brought her against his side. 

“I agree, but after spending the better part of my life avoiding the name Leopold, it seems hardly fair.”

“Come up with something better, then.” 

He considered her dare for only a moment. “I like a challenge.”

Just as Fitz leaned down to give her a kiss, a sharp cry and a hiss sounded from the far corner. Turning, Fitz expected to see Ethan reeling from a tussle with Lester. Instead, the cat seemed to be sprawled in the air, claws digging into… nothing.

“Henry stepped on him,” Ethan informed them before resuming his block tower construction.

* * *

 

A few days later, after the boys were tucked in bed and several monitors were set to alert them should that change, Fitz offered Jemma his arm and led her out along the back garden. The stars were supposed to be magnificent tonight and Fitz had planned a lovely stroll with his wife under the night sky. 

Halfway through the garden, however, Jemma pulled up short and gave him an apologetic glance. 

“My feet hurt.”

He only smiled and dropped a kiss to her cheek. 

“Here’s fine, then.” They were far enough away from the cottage’s security lights to see the shining stars. Fitz moved behind her and wrapped his arms around her middle, letting her relax against him. “Do you know the story of Cecilia Payne-Gaposchkin?”

“The astrophysicist? I believe so, but tell me anyway.”

“She was an English-born scientist.” 

“Ah, so a brilliant woman,” Jemma murmured.

“I believe she was from the south.”

“Nobody’s perfect.” 

“She discovered much of the universe is composed of hydrogen — the sun, the stars.” He pressed his lips against her temple. Together, they swayed. 

“And a man of weak accountability refused to believe her scientific findings,” Jemma added. 

“Rather typical, sadly. But still, she persevered and made full professor at Harvard — the first woman to do so within their arts and sciences department.” Fitz was stalling, suddenly feeling oddly self-conscious. As if sensing his change in mood, Jemma caressed his hand where it rested against her stomach.

“What’s this about?”

“Ah,” Fitz shifted, briefly scratching at his ear. “Well, it could be said that in discovering its true elemental form, Cecilia Payne-Gaposchkin gave us the universe.”

“I suppose,” she moved around to look at him, her brow wrinkled in thought. 

“And it could also be said,” again, he shuffled, “that  _ you  _ also gave  _ me  _ the universe. From the moment we met, you made a grumpy and lonely boy considerably less grumpy. You wanted to see the world, and you wanted to take me with you. And in the end, after countless adventures — good and not so good — you came home with me, to a quiet little village where we made a family. If only that grumpy, lonely boy could see how full his future would be...”

Jemma sniffled, angling her body as best as possible to tuck cheek against his shoulder. 

“You’re a daft man, do you know that?” She lovingly chided, her voice watery with tears. Looking at her, he knew his heart was in his eyes.

“Just the same, I’d like to name our daughter after two fierce women who cracked open the universe… Cecilia Jemma.” Fitz leaned back, gauging her reaction to his suggestion. She only sighed and pressed kisses along his jaw. 

“I’d like that.”

“Of course, this all might be pointless. We haven’t even discussed names if it’s another boy.”

“I'm certain it's a girl.”

“Ah, come on, Jemma — don’t tell me you’re going along with Ma’s patter about exhaustion and citrus fruit, now?” 

“No, not quite.” She pulled her lip between her teeth and shrugged. “I may have glanced at the monitor during yesterday’s scan. We’re definitely having a daughter.”

Fitz threw his head back and laughed. As he leaned down to kiss her, the security alert outside of Henry and Ethan’s room sounded but Fitz couldn’t be bothered to fret. His sons were out of bed, likely tormenting the cat, his daughter was arriving in under a month, and his wife was tucked against him under a perfect night’s sky.

If only, Fitz thought once more, the boy of his past could see the lucky man he’d become, then his broken heart might’ve healed even faster.


End file.
